


Little Rabbit

by HipHopAnonymous



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Animal Play, Bottom John, Butt Plugs, Corporal Punishment, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Kink, Daddy Sherlock, M/M, Paddling, Punishment, Spanking, Top Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 07:56:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HipHopAnonymous/pseuds/HipHopAnonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock can deduce just what John needs - including when John needs a spanking from daddy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Written for the Kink Meme: the request was Johnlock with John getting spanked :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A quick palate cleanser before updating the WIP. Sorry, sorry. ~~Somebody should probably spank me.~~
> 
> Come hang out with me on tumblr - agreatbestfriend

It had been ages since they’d played, and John was starved for it. Of course, he was too shy to ask, but Sherlock, master of deduction that he was, could read the desperate need in John’s every move. In the way the older man snarked and argued and rolled his eyes when Sherlock raised a knowing eyebrow to silence him in front of Lestrade. When they were finally alone in their flat, the detective crossed his arms and gave John that _look_ that made him feel just like the naughty little boy he sometimes needed to be.

“John Hamish Watson, you were an insufferable brat today, weren’t you?”

John pouted and stared at the ground, shuffling his feet before mumbling, “Dunno, mm’be.”

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, young man!”

John kept his head bowed, but peeked up at Sherlock through long lashes.

“Do you need a spanking?”

John sucked in his bottom lip and blushed. He gave his head an emphatic shake, and his hands flew instinctively to his bottom. “No, _daddy_!”

It was like a code between the two of them for _God, yes. Yes, please._ An invitation to play. A cue to Sherlock that the game, so to speak, was on.

John struggled to admit it out loud, but sometimes he needed the younger man to fulfill a specific role in their relationship. Sherlock could easily deduce when John needed to be cuddled after a nightmare, when he purely wanted sexual pleasure, and when he craved a sore, red bottom. It was lucky for John, who couldn’t even say the word “spank” without stammering and blushing, that his flatmate was such an expert at deducing his desires.

Sherlock heard the message loud and clear and raised his eyebrows, “Oh, I beg to differ. I think a good spanking is just what you need for being so naughty.”

John shook his head again and balled his fists, giving his foot a stamp. “No! Please!”

“None of that, now! You get your naughty bottom over here this instant!” Sherlock ordered.

John whined, but shuffled towards Sherlock, dragging his feet with reluctant slowness. Sherlock pulled him by the wrist to hurry him along and promptly began to unfasten John’s trousers. The doctor squirmed and tried to twist away.

“No, daddy!”

Sherlock swatted his bottom, “Be still!”

John stopped fighting, but continued to complain, “Do you really have to take them down?”

“I should think so!” Sherlock quickly tugged John’s slacks and pants down to his knees. “That little tantrum has earned you a spanking on your bare bottom, little mister!”

“Nooooo,” John wailed, “Not bare! Please! I’m sorry!”

Sherlock knew that every “please” was simply John begging for more, egging the detective on.

“John Hamish, you are going to be spanked, and I mean _spanked_ , and that certainly means on your bare bottom.”

Sherlock also knew that every time he used the word “spank,” John flushed in embarrassment, so he was sure to use it often while lecturing. Sherlock had observed that, for John, the lecture part – being scolded and chastised like a child – was just as important as the spanking itself.

“I’m going to show you what happens to little boys who misbehave. Now, get over the arm there.”

John initially whimpered and fidgeted with reluctance, but soon bent under Sherlock’s stern gaze and draped himself over the arm of the sofa. He clutched the throw pillow in his fists and pulled it to his chest.

“That’s a good boy,” Sherlock praised, running his hand over John’s exposed backside and giving it a light smack before moving away from John to walk across the room.

John’s head snapped up. “Where are you going?” he asked, voice quavering nervously.

He knew very well that Sherlock was going for _the_ desk drawer to retrieve _the_ paddle. It was a table tennis bat with bright red rubber on both sides, and it packed a truly mean sting when applied to a naughty boy’s bare behind.

Sherlock opened the drawer and made a show of rummaging amongst its few contents before pulling out the nasty implement. He gave the paddle a spinning toss in the air before gripping the handle tightly and holding it up for John to see.

“That’s right, John. Your behavior has warranted a spanking with your ‘bad boy’ paddle, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Nnnnoooo!” John groaned and hid his face in the pillow, too embarrassed by Sherlock's words to look at his flatmate any longer.

“Oh, I think so,” Sherlock smacked the paddle against his palm and John jumped at the sound, squeezing his twin bottom cheeks together tightly in anticipation.

Sherlock strode back to John’s side. He watched goosebumps rise on the bare skin of John’s upturned backside, which quivered as Sherlock let the minutes tick by, giving John a chance to squirm uncomfortably, nerves heightened as he waited for the spanking to begin. Finally, Sherlock laid the cool rubber of the paddle against John’s bottom. The doctor tensed and his bare cheeks tingled with the thought of how it would feel when it next made contact.

“I’m very disappointed in your bratty behavior, John Hamish,” Sherlock began and John groaned again into the pillow. “I hope this spanking will teach you a lesson.”

And with that, Sherlock raised the paddle and brought it down with two crisp, loud SMACKS across each of John’s buttocks. John yelped as his bottom erupted with a powerful sting. Sherlock continued to bring the paddle down rapidly, focusing on the chubbiest portions of John’s cheeks, and appreciating the jiggle that accompanied each spank.

When John’s wriggling and gasps reached a clear crescendo, Sherlock paused. John’s hands immediately flew, palms up, to block his behind.

“Bad boy!” Sherlock chided, wrapping his long fingers around both of John’s smaller wrists and pinning them in the small of his back. “You know better.”

John felt exposed and vulnerable in Sherlock’s grip. His bottom throbbed after the fiery attention from that wicked paddle.

“Please, daddy,” John begged. “No more! That’s enough! I’ll be good!”

“Young man, I’ve hardly even started spanking you!”

“Noooo!” John shook his hips and drummed his feet against the floor.

“Hush! That’s quite enough drama out of you. Your bottom is barely even pink yet, and I have every intention of giving you a cherry red reminder to be a good boy in the future!”

John whimpered and rubbed his face against the pillow, his embarrassment causing his face to flush a far deeper hue than his behind. _For the moment._ Sherlock raised the paddle again with his free hand and got to work at giving John a sorry red bottom.

The paddle exploded again and again against John’s unfortunate backside. Sherlock fell into a pattern: spanking at a rapid speed, allowing the sting to build to near unbearable levels as John writhed frantically, and then pausing to let the burn sink in while scolding - and repeat.

John struggled in Sherlock’s grasp, twisting and giving his feet little futile kicks each time the fire in his bum became near intolerable. Just when he thought he couldn’t stand it any longer, Sherlock would give him a short break before lighting into him yet again, delivering brisk, solid spanks to his plump cheeks, delicate sit-spots, and sensitive upper thighs. The paddle burned and stung his poor exposed bottom. In the detective’s skilled hand, it was truly an instrument of torture.

Finally, after several rounds of paddling, Sherlock decided he was satisfied with the color he’d painted the doctor’s bottom, which sported a rosy glow from the rounded center of his cheeks down to the upper backs of his thighs. Sherlock was a competent spanker, and would settle for nothing less than thoroughness, after all.

Even after Sherock stopped, John was still panting and thrashing his head from side to side, grinding his face into the pillow. His eyes were wet and his cheeks flushed. He certainly looked like a well-spanked, sorry little boy. Sherlock smiled, quite pleased with his handiwork. He set the paddle down on the coffee table and released his hold on John’s wrists, running his hands gently up and down John’s back to settle him.

“Shhhh,” Sherlock soothed. “Shhh. It’s over, _my little rabbit._ ”

The pet name was another code between the two of them – a signal that the punishment was over, that all was forgiven and that Sherlock was ready to offer comfort and cuddles and whatever else John may need.

John relaxed, going pliant beneath Sherlock’s hands. He sniffed and whimpered softly. He reached his own hands back towards his bottom, but stopped himself, twisting his head around to give Sherlock an imploring look, his bottom lip trembling slightly.

Sherlock chuckled, “Go ahead and rub the sting from your tail, little rabbit.”

John needed no further urging, and rubbed fiercely at his scalded behind. It was endearing and so unbearably _cute_ that Sherlock simply melted.

Sherlock plopped down onto the sofa and pulled John into his lap. “Come here, little rabbit, let me give it a rub.” He kissed the top of John’s head and generally fussed over him while the doctor snuggled against his chest, nuzzling beneath the detective’s chin.

“Such a good boy now,” Sherlock murmured as he rocked a well-spanked and fully satisfied John Watson to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of this 'verse was requested, and inspiration struck, so I wrote like the wind tonight. This is the result.
> 
> A bit more sexual in nature than the first part.

“Daddy, it hurts!” John cried out, bucking and twisting his hips as he lay stretched out – face-down and bottom-up – across Sherlock’s lap on the sofa. His bunny rabbit briefs, which Sherlock had bought for him in an act of both irony and sentiment, were twisted around the doctor’s ankles. The bunny covered fabric stretched as John kicked his feet with every smack of the detective’s hand against his already pink bare bottom. John’s jumper was rucked up around his chest, and his trousers, which had been taken all the way off, were in a puddle on the floor.

“Spankings are supposed to hurt, young man!” Sherlock scolded. “Tell me again - why are you over my knee?” He delivered a volley of sharp spanks to John’s tender sit-spots.

John howled, “I didn’t know you’d get so mad, Daddy! I’m sorrrrrry!”

Sherlock gave him a series of stinging swats to the backs of his thighs. “That’s not what I asked, is it, naughty boy?”

John’s shrieks jumped in pitch and he kicked his legs frantically in response, “No, daddy, please! I t-took your skull. I’m s-so sorry!”

The doctor had thought it might be a laugh to take Sherlock’s skull from the mantel and hide it, wondering if the detective would even notice. A part of him _wanted_ it to push Sherlock into ‘Daddy’ mode. His bottom had been itching for a sound spanking for quite awhile, and he thought – rightly so – that such a childish act might just earn him a good one. 

Of course, it had worked like a charm. Sherlock’s sharp observational eye had almost instantly caught sight of the empty place where the skull belonged, and it was like a switch was flipped in his brain. He had turned to John and crossed his arms, asking in a stern voice, _John Hamish Watson, where is my skull?_

“That’s right!” Sherlock said, his palm returning to target the rounded globes of John’s buttocks. “That skull is not a toy for little boys to play with, John. You know better! Does that skull belong to you?”

“Nooooo!” John wailed, his backside hot and stinging.

“That’s right, little mister! It belongs to me. I hope you're learning your lesson about not taking other people’s things. Now you know it’s a lesson you can only learn with your little boy briefs pulled down to your ankles for a bare bottom spanking on your chubby little bum!”

John made an indignant whine at the comment, feeling a bit sensitive about his rounded, pudgy buttocks – especially when they were currently so prominently displayed and jiggling at every spank from Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock had told him time and again that he found John’s plump backside delicious, particularly when it was freshly paddled, all hot and red, but John still found it embarrassing.

Sherlock continued, “Taking things that don’t belong to you, John Hamish, will always get your _bare little tail spanked_!”

Sherlock emphasized these final words with four extra hard smacks right across the center of John’s bottom, the detective’s large hand easily stinging both cheeks at once. He then ran his hand over the hot, crimson flesh, rubbing and kneading while John caught his breath.

“I’m still quite cross with you, young man,” Sherlock scolded. “That was a very naughty thing to do. Don’t think for a second that your punishment is over. You were a very naughty little boy. That was just a warm-up spanking to get your attention!”

John whimpered, his rump throbbing with an exquisite burn that sent jolts of pleasure straight to his cock which was leaking onto Sherlock’s trousers. He tried to sneak a few barely perceptible thrusts against Sherlock’s leg, desperate for friction, and he froze when Sherlock spoke, expecting to be chastised. John had learned that ‘trying to get off while being punished’ was naughty and not allowed during this game, earning him extra spanks, but Sherlock either hadn’t noticed or had chosen to ignore the transgression.

“Daddy has a surprise for you,” Sherlock was saying as he rustled a paper bag on the coffee table.

John hadn’t had much time to consider what Sherlock had been bringing into the flat before ‘Daddy Sherlock’ had emerged; and then the doctor became fully focused on the fate of his backside. John craned his head around to see Sherlock pull what looked like a large, fluffy white cotton ball from the bag. Sherlock grinned, and showed John that the ball of fluff was attached to a black silicone plug.

“Now my little rabbit will have a cute little fluffy tail!”

John flushed red. He buried his face into the sofa and groaned, unconsciously giving his hips a shake in embarrassment. Sherlock chuckled.

“Seems like your little bottom is eager for its tail,” he teased.

John heard the unmistakable sound of a bottle of lube being popped open and soon felt Sherlock’s warm, wet fingers pressing against his tiny hole, lubricating it in preparation for the plug.

“Hold yourself open for me,” Sherlock instructed.

John knew it wasn’t necessary, that Sherlock could easily work a plug into his arsehole without John’s assistance, but that was part of the game – being humbled through humiliation, and though John’s face burned in shame, a part of him loved it. He hesitated for only a moment before reaching his hands back, gripping his warm bottom cheeks and pulling them apart.

“Good boy,” Sherlock praised and began to work the bunny tail plug between John’s buttocks.

He pressed the toy inward slowly, hushing John’s whimpers until the puckered hole closed over the widest portion, sealing it in place.

Sherlock cooed and fussed and played with the fluffy tail protruding from the center of John’s punished pink bottom. “It’s just precious, my sweet little bunny. You should see yourself!”

John wriggled, the plug filling and providing pressure in all the right places. That, coupled with the dull sting in his bum, made his painfully hard cock twitch.

“Ok, naughty boy. I think you’re due some corner time sitting on a hard, wooden stool on your sore little tail!”

Sherlock helped John up, pulling his jumper over his head and his briefs down over his ankles and off, leaving him wearing nothing but a fluffy rabbit tail and a pink bum. The detective retrieved a stool from the kitchen and set it in a corner of the living room, instructing John to sit his bare bottom right on it and think about how naughty he had been.

John squirmed on the hard chair, perched on his well-spanked sit-spots so as not to sit on his new 'tail.' He kept his hands laced behind his neck as was the rule since the doctor couldn’t be trusted not to rub his bottom or touch his cock during corner time. John knew better than to use his feet on the rungs of the chair to alleviate the pressure against his sore behind – that was part of the punishment, after all! – so he let his feet dangle in the air, feeling extremely naughty, exposed, embarrassed, and punished in this position. Every movement made the plug rub his most sensitive places, constantly reminding him that he had a fluffy tail sticking out of his bottom.

Finally, after what felt like ages, Sherlock called John out of the corner for what he called ‘round two.’ John eagerly jumped down from the stool, but pouted when he saw Sherlock was holding the wooden spoon.

“No, daddy!” he begged, bottom lip quivering. “Don’t use that! Please!”

“None of that, John Hamish! Naughty little boys get their bottoms paddled – you know that!” Sherlock sat back down on the sofa and patted his lap.

John dragged his feet, feeling the plug move inside him with every step, finally sidling up next to Sherlock’s and bending forward as if to lay across his lap.

Sherlock stopped him. “Not this time.” Taking John by the hand, he pulled him into a sitting position on his lap and then pushed his chest, laying the doctor down on his back across the sofa with his ‘tail’ pressing into Sherlock’s thigh.

John was confused. He was lying wrong side up for a spanking, wasn’t he? He blushed when he caught sight of his cock, sticking straight up, and he blamed the pressure from the plug during all the adjusting into this odd position.

“All right, legs up!” 

Sherlock patted John’s thighs, and the doctor turned an even deeper shade of red when he realized exactly what the detective had in mind. He swallowed and obeyed, Sherlock helping to push his legs up into the air to expose his bottom, as if he were a baby having a nappy changed.

Sherlock hooked his arm around John’s thighs to hold his bent legs up, cupping the doctor’s balls gently in his hand to protect them. Sherlock gave John’s exposed bum (and fluffy tail!) a hungry look, licking his lips, and John felt a tell-tale poke against his tailbone from the detective’s cock through his trousers. John covered his face with his hands, so embarrassed he thought he might burst. His own cock throbbed hard and dripping against his stomach.

“Time for your paddling, naughty bunny,” Sherlock announced, picking up the spoon and tapping the wooden back against John’s bottom. “I’m going to paddle your little bum cherry red now, John Hamish, because that’s what happens to _naughty boys_!”

He raised the spoon and popped it down with a firm smack against each of John’s buttocks before settling into a brisk pace, swatting fast and hard, each loud crack echoing into the next. John screeched and wailed and wiggled, forcing Sherlock to periodically wrestle him back into the appropriate position, which always resulted in a series of extra hard spanks. John couldn’t help it, though. The spoon always stung, but it was unbearable in this position! The skin of his bottom was pulled tight and every strike stung like a million bees!

Sherlock was relentless – he certainly wasn’t kidding around when he said he was going to turn John’s bottom red! “Daddy, please!” John cried. “Please stop! It hurts!”

“I know it hurts, young man, but you earned this paddling. Little boys who steal their Daddies’ things deserve to be spanked!”

Sherlock even delivered several light swats right against John’s little rabbit ‘tail,' and John howled as each smack sent a jolt into the plug that set the sensitive nerves in his bumhole tingling. After a few very harsh finishing spanks to John’s sit-spots, Sherlock finally stopped. 

John’s backside was absolutely on fire. He shut his eyes, squeezing out a pair of tears, and he thrashed his head from side to side, still whimpering and crying out, “Daddy, Daddy, ‘M’sorry!”

“Shhhh,” Sherlock hushed, “Your spanking is over, my little rabbit.” He rubbed his hand over John’s punished flesh, giving the tail a little twist to tease his boy-rabbit, before letting his fingers dance up the cleft of the doctor's arse to fondle his balls. John’s erection, which had flagged a little from the intensity of the paddling, was growing hard again in response to Sherlock’s attention. “You won’t play with Daddy’s skull again, will you?”

John shook his head fiercely. “No! No! No, Daddy! Never!”

“Good, boy,” Sherlock purred, wrapping his hand around John’s cock. “Let’s see if you can make it up to Daddy, ok?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a [NSFW Link](http://www.extremerestraints.com/bizarre-butt-plugs_7/bunny-tail-butt-plug_440.html) to the type of plug I had in mind while writing this. ;)


	3. Bathtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally felt like updating this again! I think I'm just going to leave this story open/unfinished so I can add chapters whenever I feel like it ;)

John lay soaking in the warm water of the bath when the desire, the _need_ arose. He trailed his hand down his stomach and slowly wrapped his fingers around the beginnings of an erection. Leaning his head back against the porcelain, he closed his eyes and stroked lazily down his growing length, flipping through memories for suitable wank material. The scenes that made his belly flare with heat and his cock throb the hardest were all similar: Sherlock taking John across his knee and slowly peeling his pants down his thighs; Sherlock propping his hips up with pillows on the bed for a bare bottomed session with the cane or belt; Sherlock making him fetch the paddle and hold it while he stood waiting in the corner with his pants around his ankles, bare backside exposed to the room; Sherlock touching, teasing, fucking, and generally using his ‘little boy.’

A small, breathy moan escaped John’s lips tinged with frustration as his hand was suddenly not enough. Especially not when he knew the detective was only in the next room. He’d left Sherlock lying prone on the sofa, fingers steepled beneath his chin, somewhere deep inside his ‘mind palace.’ The detective hadn’t even acknowledged John when he’d come through the front door and said he was going to have a bath. Still … maybe he’d finished thinking by now and John could get his attention.

“Sherlock?” he called, but his voice came out timid, hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Sherlock?” Much louder that time.

He waited. Nothing. Silence. John turned and rested his chin on the side of the tub, pouting and huffing out an impatient sigh.

“D-daddy?” he called, voice small.

He instantly blushed, half regretting it; half hoping that Sherlock wouldn’t hear – that he would be ignored yet again. When footsteps approached the bathroom door, John’s heart leapt into his throat. Why did this always make him so nervous? Still, a part of him was thrilled he’d captured the detective’s attention.

The door creaked open.

“John?” Sherlock asked, peeking his head in. “Are you all right?”

John avoided the detective’s gaze, sinking into the water so that only his nose and the top of his head were visible.

“John?” Sherlock repeated, voice stern and serious. “What do you need?”

The doctor shrugged, making the water slosh around his ears. Sherlock sighed, but cracked a grin, walking to the tub as he realized John was simply feeling a bit needy. He quickly appraised John in the bath, almost instantly noticing the erection John was failing to hide beneath the water.

“Were you being naughty in the tub, John?” Sherlock asked, smirking a bit.

John felt the heat in his cheeks as he blushed and shook his head in embarrassed denial.

“Hmm, I think you were, dirty boy,” the detective teased, fixing John with his studying gaze, figuring out what the doctor really needed. Often, John didn’t even realize what it was he needed until Sherlock deduced it. “Do you want daddy to wash your hair for you?”

John nodded, the little part of him relieved he wasn’t in trouble while another part of him, one that still had a hard, throbbing cock, was disappointed he had escaped a spanking. Still, any attention from his daddy was a joy.

Sherlock squeezed a generous dollop of shampoo into his palm and began to lather John’s wet hair, working it in gently with his long fingers. John closed his eyes and sighed, relaxing deeply in the warm water and thoroughly enjoying the scalp massage.

The detective gave him plenty of attention, washing and rinsing his hair, scrubbing his back with a washcloth, and even occasionally letting his long, slender fingers graze John’s erection, making the doctor gasp and squirm. Sherlock smirked, but otherwise didn’t call attention to John’s obvious state of arousal.

When the water had cooled to lukewarm and John was getting rather pruny, much to the doctor’s annoyance, Sherlock brought the pleasure abruptly to an end.

“All right, John, time to get out of the tub and dry off. I need to get back to work.”

John’s heart sank and he pouted, huffing out a stubborn “No!” and hunkering down in the tub.

“No?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Young man, I say it’s time to get out of the tub, so if a certain little boy knows what’s good for him and his currently very bare and wet little bottom, he will do what daddy says and obey.”

“But I don’t _want_ to get out yet!” John argued, screwing up his face and embracing the naughty headspace. The adult part of him was extremely aggravated that Sherlock would leave him so unsatisfied, and it manifested in his little self as being an ornery brat.

“John …” Sherlock warned. “Out of the tub _now._ One … two …”

“NO!” John shouted and flung his arms into the air, bringing them back down into the water with a mighty _splash!_ that sent water sloshing over the sides of the tub and spraying into the air all over Sherlock’s freshly pressed shirt.

John instantly regretted it, heart pounding as he watched Sherlock close his eyes and grit his teeth, face covered with water from John’s temper tantrum splashing. After only a moment’s hesitation, Sherlock stood up, grabbing the little doctor by the arm and wrenching him upright.

“John Hamish Watson how _dare_ you throw a tantrum and ruin daddy’s nice clothes. You get out of that tub this _instant_!” He roughly guided John out of the tub, not bothering to offer the doctor a towel for drying. John stepped onto the bathmat, dripping wet and shivering from a combination of the chill in the air and nervous anticipation. He was certainly going to be punished now!

The detective wasted no time in picking up his own large oval hairbrush from the sink. John blanched. He was more than familiar with the wicked sting from its hard wooden back! In one swift motion, Sherlock bent the doctor in half and wrapped an arm around his waist to hold the naughty little boy in place. John heard the loud _crack!_ of wood hitting bare, wet flesh just a moment before a burst of stinging pain erupted across the center of his bottom.

John was shocked into silence by the intensity of the sting. He’d never been spanked on a wet bottom before, but he was about to learn that it was _not_ a pleasant experience.

The first smack was followed up by several more as Sherlock lit into his boy’s exposed backside. Each swat echoed in the small tiled room like a gunshot, and the unbelievable sting threatened to overwhelm. At first, John could only gape, eyes wide at the burning pain. He felt as though Sherlock had laid a hot iron across his bottom cheeks. Soon enough, though, he began to wail.

“Owwwww! Daddy, please!! I’m sorrrrrrrry!”

Sherlock did not relent, using a mean upward smack against the doctor’s sit-spots. John squirmed and wriggled, stamping his feet with the tell-tale dance of a little boy getting his bottom paddled. Still wet, he was almost as slippery as an eel, but Sherlock kept his grip tight, keeping the doctor in place and never missing the target – John’s rapidly reddening twin globes!

“Hurts more on a wet bottom, doesn’t it, young man?” Sherlock asked, still smacking away at John’s chubby, bouncing cheeks.

“Yessssss,” John hissed, hands scrabbling desperately at the back of Sherlock’s shirt. “Please stop, Daddy! It hurrrrts!”

“It’s supposed to hurt. Having a tantrum and splashing water all over was extremely naughty and has earned you a very sore bottom!”

Sherlock went on to explain just why a spanking on a wet bottom hurt more than on a dry one. The genius detective droned on about the physics of water and air and velocity, but quite honestly, at the moment, John couldn’t have given a damn. He wasn’t thinking about the logistics or the ‘why,’ but was fully focused on the fact that his bare tail was absolutely on fire and his daddy just kept on bringing that damn brush down again and again.

The burn became unbearable, causing John to begin to kick up one foot at a time in a futile attempt to block the onslaught. At one point, he even attempted to swing both feet up at once, tipping Sherlock off balance for a moment and giving John a brief reprieve from the paddling. Unfortunately for John’s backside, his daddy was quick to recover and aimed several hard smacks to the backs of his thighs.

“Legs _down_ , young man! Feet on the floor!” Sherlock barked.

John screeched and quickly brought his feet down, planting them firmly on the ground. He tried instead to swing his hips from side to side to avoid the endless swats, but his daddy never missed, always finding a suitably spankable portion of John's naughty behind for a sharp hairbrush smack.

Finally, _finally_ , the spanking came to an end, although it took John several moments before he even noticed that his bottom was no longer being soundly smacked. His skin was on fire and throbbed terribly.

“I’m s-sorry, daddy!” he sobbed, body going limp in Sherlock’s grip.

“Shhh, hush now … I know,” the detective comforted, pulling John into a hug, clearly no longer caring about the state of his clothes against his boy’s still damp body.

Sherlock reached around John to retrieve a towel, wrapping it around the doctor’s shoulders as he began to dry him off. John was sure the hairbrush had spanked off any and all water from his backside, but his daddy thoroughly dried his sore, red bum anyway, rubbing the towel over the punished skin just a bit harder than was necessary causing John to whimper and squirm. The attention Sherlock gave his front side while drying, however, was far more pleasant, leaving John eager for more attention to his now hard and dripping prick.

Once the doctor was dry, Sherlock pressed a kiss to John’s forehead, followed by his nose, and finally his lips. John melted, pressing back against his daddy’s mouth, eager for forgiveness.

“Such a good boy now,” Sherlock murmured. “I know you just wanted some attention, but tantrums are no way to go about getting it, John Hamish.”

John nodded fiercely in agreement, one hand slipping behind to rub absently at his still smarting bottom. Sherlock smirked, taking away the towel and tossing it into the hamper. His eyes flitted over his boy’s naked body, and he licked his lips hungrily. John’s face flushed under his daddy’s attention, cock twitching with excitement.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Go get in bed and wait for me.”

John swayed as Sherlock stepped back and released their embrace, his head fuzzy with arousal. Sherlock gave his sore bum a smack, and he yelped, instantly snapped back into awareness.

"Run along, little rabbit," Sherlock chided. "To the bedroom. Daddy will be there soon."

As John obeyed, padding quickly from the bathroom, he glanced into the mirror on his way out, catching sight of his scarlet bottom. Well, now his cock was _really_ hard!

 

_A little later …_

 

“Daddy, can I come please? _Please_?”

“I don’t know, John Hamish, _can_ you? Previous experience tells me that you most certainly can,” Sherlock drawled with a smirk.

John huffed in frustration. “M-may I come, please, daddy?”

“Not yet. What’s going to happen if you come before Daddy says you can?”

“Y-you’ll’pankme,” barely a whisper.

“Sorry, I couldn’t understand you. What will happen if you come before daddy gives you permission?”

John squeezed eyes shut tight, embarrassed. “You’ll spank me.”

“That’s right, you naughty little bunny. You’ll earn yourself _another_ bare bottom paddling, and you don’t want that on your already sore bottom, do you? So I suggest you be careful, young man!”


End file.
